Jealous
by Sherlockfan12
Summary: Sherlock is fed up with John's girlfriends stealing his attention and is determined to make John see the futility of dating all these boring women, but he's not exactly prepared to admit his own feelings, nor is he prepared for the results of doing so. Slash, Johnlock


**Author's Note:** _Yet another of my 'how John and Sherlock might get together' fan-fictions - I have a million ideas on how this could happen, but I think this is one of the most realistic ones I've done._

_I guess this turned out a little more angsty/dramatic than I normally enjoy, but it has a happy ending so I guess it's still mostly fluff. I have a continuation in the works as someone requested it, but I'm not sure how long it'll be before I get it completed as I've got several other stories bouncing around in my head as well._

_I wanted to include the thoughts of both John and Sherlock, but was having difficulty keeping it all clear. I really hope I've managed it. All the thoughts are in italics._

_-Obligatory Disclaimer -_

_These characters belong to the BBC show writers Moffat and Gatiss. This is just fanfiction, no profits made, blah blah blah. And my apologies for any fangirlish butcherings which have no doubt occurred herein._

* * *

**Jealous**

"Look, I'm sorry. We've got a case. Maybe we can have dinner Saturday?" John nearly bumped into Sherlock as they both paced toward opposite sides of the room, Sherlock with his hands pressed together under his nose, John with his phone pressed to the side of his head. Sherlock glared at him. John payed him no mind.

"I know, I know, I'm really sorry, Normally I'd love to…"

John paused at the window, looking out at nothing in particular. Sherlock whirled around when he reached the door, but then stopped, letting himself fall back to lean against it. He scrutinized John's back looking him slowly up and down, calculating. John turned and began to pace perpendicularly to the line he'd been wearing in the rug for the last few minutes.

"No, it's not that I don't want to meet your Mum, I just really don't have time tonight." He peered at the book case a moment when he came to it, tracing his finger idly in the layer of dust. _Sherlock hated the way people fiddled with things when they were on the phone. _

"But it's of _national_ importance_._" John insisted. He turned around glancing to high heaven for patience and scratching the back of his neck. "No, I'm **not** just saying that." Meeting the opposite wall he turned once more glancing at Sherlock to share a look of mutual exasperation. With a slight shake of his head he told Sherlock that he would double his efforts to wrap this up quickly. _Of course John resented that Sherlock seemed to regard social calls as something he had the right to forbid, but at the same time John completely agreed about not wasting time chatting when there were more important things to be doing. Sometimes he was even secretly grateful when Sherlock provided and excuse to end lengthy one-sided conversations with one of his girlfriends. _

"Yes. Okay. I know, yes. But I can't come tonight." John said firmly, now pointlessly shifting some things on the desk.

Sherlock's brow creased as he contemplated him. _He was sick of putting up with all this nonsense with John's girlfriends. He was sick of watching John with them. He was sick of John wasting his time on meaningless distractions and attachments. He was sick of watching John delude himself while denying his true motivations. John was such an idiot. _

"Look, I'll meet her another time." John tried to mask his annoyance with a reassuring tone.

"No, of course I care! Mary, I _care_, but that doesn't mean I can just drop everything…"

Sherlock smirked sardonically, tapping his fingers together as though plotting something.

John reeled with an exasperated sigh as he turned to lean on the desk, now facing Sherlock. "Well, that's different." he remonstrated. Then his expression turned grim and guarded. "Yes. Okay, it's not always important, but I don't know that." He shot a glare up at Sherlock who gave him an innocent shrug, although John missed it as he glowered back at the floor. "_This_ time it _is_." He reiterated.

John shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable. _He knew he always bent over backwards for Sherlock, and sometimes he couldn't believe the things he put up with, but he loved all the adventures they shared and he liked being relied on like that. It gave him a sense of importance. He didn't just blog about their cases, he played an important part in solving them. Sherlock was his best friend, after all, and he honestly wanted to be there for him, even if other people criticized him for it. _

Sherlock tapped his fingers against his lips staring at John intensely, then paused with his mouth slightly open, glancing down as he studied his own thoughts. _He was jealous. Yes that was obvious, why else would he feel so annoyed at John having girlfriends, or so satisfied when John put them off for his sake. He'd been aware of that for a while, and he knew there was more behind his jealousy as well, but he'd been telling himself it wasn't important, skirting around the clear facts because John was. And __**that**__ was beginning to irritate him. Of course he'd never liked dealing with feelings, but somehow watching someone else being even more willfully obtuse than himself in that regard was intolerable._

John was trying very hard to remain calm and reasonable, but he was slipping. _ He hated the way people wrote off Sherlock's brilliance and considered his cases just a crazy hobby, implying John's involvement to be even more trivial. He didn't cancel dates just to play games with his flat-mate! This wasn't sports, this was people's lives! Why couldn't his dates ever understand that?_

"I don't _choose_ when someone's going to commit a crime! No one calls us up to ask if Thursday would be a good day for us to investigate this murder they're planning. If crime was scheduled with us in advance it wouldn't _happen!_" John looked up at Sherlock with an expression that said _This is too much to be believed! _But Sherlock was focused inwards with a very troubled expression on his face and it took a moment for John's look to filter through and elicit a response. He did eventually send him an appreciative smirk and rolled his eyes. Then he took in a deep breath and sighed, resuming his intense expression.

_He really did appreciate John in so many ways. Sherlock knew his jealousy must mean that he felt much more deeply for John than he ever let on. Well, that was obvious too, after all John was the most important person in his life. He knew that, despite himself, he nearly felt panic and rage at the thought of John deserting him, or…__**dying**__ in one of their escapades. It was only too obvious that John felt the same for him: he'd do anything for Sherlock. John was totally committed, and yet he refused to admit it. His elaborate pretense at not having feelings for Sherlock was rather painful to watch. Did he really believe he was fooling anyone? Normally Sherlock didn't think much of acting on feelings, but John not acting on his was beginning to be so obnoxious that acting on his own sounded almost appealing. Which was actually more illogical? Sherlock wondered to himself, acting on feelings, or ignoring the truth of their existence? He was starting to think his answer would surprise himself. _

Sherlock stared at John as he pleaded and bargained with this Mary. _It was exceedingly annoying. He was sick of sharing him with the rabble. He had to put an end to the stream of pointless girlfriends. He had to make John realize that he __**wanted**__ the life he had with Sherlock, that he never wanted to leave, and was therefore wasting his efforts on relationships that were doomed from the start. He couldn't stand the thought of John blindly ruining the life they both wanted while he followed tradition in his senseless denial._

"But Mary, there is not the slightest chance of anyone_ dying_ if I don't come have dinner with your Mum." John was shaking his head helplessly, then he rolled his eyes and pressed his lips together irritably. "_Other_ than myself." He corrected.

Suddenly reaching a decision, Sherlock stalked across the room and leaned very close to John's face, cutting into the conversation with his own imposing voice. "You're not the only person in the world and meeting your _Mum_ is not John's priority." He grabbed John's hand, pulling the phone away from his ear as he continued, "Now I'd appreciate it if you'd shut up and let me _Think!_" He pressed _end_ with vehemence and then fixed John with a hard stare. John's mouth dropped open in exasperation with Sherlock's rudeness at the same moment that he shrugged in resignation and sighed with relief. _Well that was over, maybe in more than one sense._

Sherlock was still holding his hand with the phone, riveting John with his eyes.

John shrugged again nervously, "Sorry, she was just…"

Sherlock let go of his hand and turned away, holding his eyes for a moment longer with a 'knowing' glance before finally releasing him and flopping down on the couch.

John sighed and took up his previous post at his computer where he'd been looking something up. _What was it again? he wondered for a moment. _

"And they call me heartless." Sherlock's voice rumbled just within John's range of hearing.

"I'm sorry, what?" John said looking over at him, rather indignant at his tone.

"Just look at you." Sherlock scoffed. "I insult them from the start yes, but _you_… _You_ lead them on, rejecting them little by little while pretending you're still interested; placating, apologizing, giving them the promise of better days to come when you know it's never going to happen, even if you've convinced yourself you have good intentions."

John looked utterly confused at this sudden diatribe.

"Meet her mother?" Sherlock snorted. "Buy a ring while you're at it! In six months it'll be 'John you can't run out on our wedding rehearsal!' " He mimicked a whiney female voice. "Take her out, give her gifts, write her _poetry_, stay over at her place, make_ love_ to her." He glared at John in disgust. "But, you don't actually intend to 'settle down' with any of them do you?" Sherlock laughed sarcastically, "Though you tell yourself that because you want to be honorable. _Mary_ is not what you're after, so what's the point? What is it you're really looking for, John?"

John opened his mouth, but found he was speechless.

"And I'm not implying sex," Sherlock added, rolling his eyes with a little shake of his head, "though that is part of it."

"Sherlock, the case?" John reminded him, hardly believing that he would have to.

"I think it can wait a few more minutes." Sherlock said, shifting aside the research material on the coffee table and then leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, staring at John over his clasped hands. "What _do_ you want in life, John?"

"Um…._How_ is this important now?" _This seemed very strange from Sherlock and John really didn't want to talk about it._

"I think it's time you get your priorities sorted, John." Sherlock said in his insufferably superior way.

"What? What are you talking about, Sherlock this isn't relevant…"

"Call it a lesson in Introspection. You've been avoiding thinking about it ever since you came back to London. For both our sakes I think it's time you did."

John was about to protest but Sherlock's serious stare shot straight through his defenses and he found himself forced to examine his thoughts.

"What do you really want to do with your life?" Sherlock asked once more.

"…I like helping people." John said slowly, with creased brow.

"Yes, but not in the safety of some sterile, bleak little office." Sherlock raised his brows.

John nodded assent, and mulled that over. _No, it was true, he didn't really like mundane work, not when it stretched on without interruption. He had to grant that without the diversion of his adventures with Sherlock, his current day job would have seemed rather depressing._

"What else do you want?"

John had no idea how to answer, so he just began talking, "Well, I want…."

"Don't talk. Think." Sherlock said, stepping over the coffee table to come sit across from John at the desk. "Or let me think for you," he said, "and you can tell me if I'm right."

John looked across at him with a troubled and wary expression, but didn't say anything. Sherlock cocked his head to the side, contemplating him a moment. Then started with a surprisingly gentle tone of voice.

"John, you tell yourself you want a normal traditional life: to be a doctor, to get married, have children, carry on the family name, all that habitual rubbish that people do generation after generation."

John grimaced. Defensiveness sparked in his eye a moment, but as he held Sherlock's gaze it melted into rueful admission.

"But _that's _what you're afraid of." Sherlock said urgently.

John's mouth dropped open slightly as he stared into those keen blue eyes. _They were so alive, he couldn't help feeling a sense of anticipation as he stared into them. That was one of the things that made Sherlock so captivating. _

"During the war something wakened in you," Sherlock continued, "you felt alive, you had a new purpose, one that really _mattered_. Coming back to lead an ordinary life is like laying yourself to rest in an early grave. Isn't it? You don't _want _a normal life." Sherlock said with certainty.

John studied Sherlock, his eager face leaning toward him across the table. John glanced down.

"You're right." He whispered.

"The real reason you keep dating boring people you don't ever intend to become attached to is that you're avoiding admitting your priorities because you've already written off what you actually want as _impossible_ and are falling back on blind traditionalism." Disgust was creeping back into Sherlock's voice.

John shook his head. "What do you mean impossible?"

"Where is it you really want to be? Who is it you really want to spend your life with?" Sherlock asked with his usual tone that implied the answer ought to be completely obvious. He glared at John intensely.

John stared back, looking pained and torn. "I don't know…" he paused, struggling to sort out his thoughts. _He hadn't really been thinking very far ahead._ "Here, I suppose. London anyway but…."

"John, why do you keep avoiding the answer?"

"Sherlock, I don't know. That's what dating is about." _ John was trying so hard to keep calm and reasonable, which Sherlock usually appreciated, but in this case he found it infuriating because it stemmed from John's determined avoidance of the truth. _

"Oh really?" Sherlock sneered. "Since your _dating_ seems to only be leading you down dead ends, why don't you try a little deduction? Hm?"

John shook his head helplessly. _Normally Sherlock didn't harass him so persistently._

After a moment of John's mouth hanging open speechlessly, Sherlock continued. "_I_ said I'm married to my work, and by all accounts it would seem so are _you_. Why do you insist on ignoring what you already have? Who gives you the adventure that makes life bearable? Who do you choose to spend nearly all your time with? Whose interests do you consistently put before your girlfriends'? Who do you put up with no matter how mad it makes you? Who do you constantly risk your life for? Who are you willing to do anything for without question? _Who do you__** always**__ drop everything for? _The loss of _Whom_ would cause your life to crumble? Not this _Mary,_ or _Janet_, or _Sarah!_" Sherlock's tone became positively bitter there at the end. _ He hadn't been aware of feeling so much resent, but now that he was finally laying out all the evidence, he found it insulting that John refused to admit how much Sherlock meant to him in spite of the obvious signs. _

John was shocked. He stared at Sherlock open mouthed, brow furrowed. _Was he really saying what it sounded like? No matter how much John cared about him, no matter if they were indeed friends, Sherlock would never allow himself to become emotionally invested in anyone. Would he?_

"You're jealous? _You're_ actually jealous?" John muttered his realization across Sherlock's tirade. _He'd never let himself think that Sherlock could feel such a thing. He felt surprisingly flattered, though he could hardly believe it to be true_.

"And how do you think _they _feel?" Sherlock retorted, nodding at the phone to indicate John's string of girlfriends. "You're not the type for one night stands, but don't you agree it's unfair to keep leading people on because you don't want to admit you're already committed elsewhere?"

"Since when did you care about people's feelings?!" John shot back indignantly. _He couldn't believe he was getting a lecture on feelings from Sherlock. How many times had Sherlock disregarded his feelings? How many times had he disappointed John by not caring? Damn it, why had he grown to care so much for Sherlock in spite of his coldness? Why did Sherlock have to care now?_

"And you do?" Sherlock let out a disgusted snort, narrowing his eyes, "Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'm used to it." He spat, shoving his chair away from the desk and stalking away. _With his back to John Sherlock's face twitched in anger as he chided himself for becoming so emotionally charged. He'd intended to keep this discussion logical and civil, but the more he spoke the truth, and the more John tried to keep calm and ignore it, the more his control over his own emotions had slipped. He didn't know what would come out if he continued to speak. He wanted to storm out the door, but then he heard John's voice._

"Sherlock…? I didn't….. Do you really…?" _John stammered, feeling a horrible sinking feeling in his gut. It was impossible, and yet it was so obvious. John felt himself loosing the fight with his mind that he'd been so careful not to let himself consciously notice he'd been having, and was overcome with the suspicion that he'd been willfully blind and making a complete idiot of himself for some time. He'd been ignoring his feelings for Sherlock to protect himself from being hurt by Sherlock's indifference to him, yet now it seemed that very act had hurt Sherlock instead, as crazy as it seemed._

Sherlock whirled about on him, his face contorted with revulsion. "Don't act so stupid John! You know bloody well I actually do have feelings, but it's more convenient for you to ignore it so you don't have to face your own. You always chide me for not feeling, John, Well this is me _feeling_. _MY Feelings, John!_ How much do you really care about them?"_ Sherlock could feel his face was red. He hated himself for loosing it, which only served to make him even more spiteful. _

John stared back at him looking white, his eyes full of sorrow.

_John felt sick inside. He'd never let himself see it. Even if no one else would believe it, of course he __**knew **__Sherlock had feelings, and he was completely right: he'd let himself disregard them even though he knew better. He'd known Sherlock cared about him, but had avoided looking further than the surface. He'd told himself it was because Sherlock would never actually admit to any feelings he might have, but was it really because John was afraid of what he might find? Why was he afraid? Whatever it was didn't matter now in the face of Sherlock's raw emotion. He couldn't stand himself for disregarding Sherlock so, just like everyone else did. He couldn't stand himself for making him feel this way. He could never stand it when Sherlock was overcome by his negative emotions, and now he was beginning to understand why. He cared far more deeply about him than he'd thought Sherlock would appreciate, so he hadn't let himself dwell on it. But what if Sherlock actually __**did **__care just as much as he did? _

Sherlock let out a faint ironic laugh as John stared at him, unable to find any words. He looked away from John, his lip twitching as he muttered bitterly. "Of the two people who actually understand me, one has to be my enemy, and the other has to be my _Friend!"_ He spat.

'_I'm just your friend.' John could hear himself saying it in the past, but now he realized he wasn't__** just**__ his friend. How long he'd been more than that he didn't know. He heaved a deep sigh of regret._

"Sherlock, I'm _so_ sorry…." He began, looking down ashamedly.

"Save your meaningless apologies, John." Sherlock cut him off.

"Sherlock, no!…"

"Stop leading me on like all your other _girlfriends!_ You act as though I'm the most important person in your life. You tell me I'm fantastic. You do anything I ask you. You're willing to kill for me, and die for me, and yet you keep insisting 'Oh no, I couldn't possibly have feelings for _Him!'_ I give you exactly what you want in life and then you go seek fulfillment elsewhere?! What? Are you so _embarrassed_ by me? Am I not good enough for you,_ John?_" _Sherlock waved his hands as he ranted, so lost now he hardly knew what he was saying. He didn't care as long as he could see that stricken look on John's face. He deserved to feel wretched. For once he wasn't going to let John have the moral high-ground he always tried to claim. For once John was the guilty one. For once he was…._

_**Crying**__. Sherlock stopped short, staring at him. It was like being stabbed in the heart: everything stopped, even his mind. _

_A tear rolled down John's cheek as he shuddered in his bitterness toward himself for what he'd done to the person he loved most of all - how obvious that was now. How long had Sherlock been holding all this in while John avoided the truth for the sake of …blind traditionalism. Had he thought somehow he'd be less of a man if he wasn't with a woman? Had he been afraid of allowing himself to __**not **__try to fit into a conventional life? How was any of that important? His own embarrassment didn't even matter now. Nothing mattered but making things right between them._

John stood and stepped toward him.

"Sherlock." John whispered, reaching out his hand. Tentatively his fingers touched Sherlock's hand, and then slowly slid around it. _John felt a slight shiver, and a twinge in his gut at that simple touch. Okay, he was absolutely right, then. So I am in love with him. John found the admission surprisingly easy to accept now that he'd done it. It was beautiful. It was true. _

_After the release of his emotions, Sherlock felt empty now as he watched John come closer to him, unable to do anything but observe as John took his hand. He stared at him, frozen, as John took another step closer. John's other hand clutched his shirt as he fell against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock had no idea what to do. He was aware of a pang in his stomach at the sensation of John's body pressed against his own. Was this actually what he'd wanted; what had caused him to to feel such bitter jealousy? Why hadn't he jumped back, or pushed John away yet? That was normally how he dealt with attempts at affection upon himself. Of course he wanted John's exclusive devotion, but there was something terrifying about this closeness, and it wasn't the usual repulsion he felt for sentimental fluff. Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps he had to make himself accept the part of himself that actually did want not only John's undivided companionship, but his affection as well. _

_John pressed closer to Sherlock, desperate to feel some response. Now that they had come this far in admitting the truth he was afraid Sherlock would shut down completely against him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to just go on and bear it as he had before. Damn him, he loved him so much. He cursed himself for ignoring things so long. He cursed Sherlock for closing himself off from him._

At last John spoke, very quietly, but clear "I love you, Sherlock."

_A strange pang ran through Sherlock's insides at the words which he normally would have scorned, and he found his hand tightening on John's, his arm curling round him to hold him tightly. He felt himself shudder, hating to feel and yet feeling such strong yearning despite himself. He looked down at John, his face brushing John's hair, and sniffed. He couldn't explain why his nose was suddenly runny. His chest seemed to be crushing inwards so he could hardly breathe. He felt strange, and sick, and faint, yet filled with heat and fervor._

John felt a wet drop hit is neck and trickle down it. He looked up into Sherlock's face, now so near his own. _He loved that face, as wretched as it looked now, he loved it. _ Sherlock's eyes brimmed with tears as he searched John's eyes in return. He reached up to touch Sherlock's face.

_John wiped Sherlock's cheek with his thumb and suddenly Sherlock realized it felt wet and slimy. He hadn't even known that he was crying too. _ They stared in amazement at each-other's tears. This was not at all what either of them had expected, and the question of what to do _now_ daunted them both.

_The love he saw in John's eyes ached inside his own chest. In a surreal kind of detachment, Sherlock observed himself, felt his lip tremble, felt the wet tears spill from his eyes, felt John's breath on his face. He swallowed awkwardly. _

"John, I…" _he began to whisper, but found his lips settling upon John's in a moment of pure satisfaction. Sherlock breathed him in. He wanted to hate himself for falling prey to love, but he couldn't hate this, not when he felt John's desire, not when he felt his own desire, drawing John in to make him his own at last. This was exactly what he wanted, all his inward struggles resolved into this certainty: __**John is mine! **__ The realization washed over him like the bliss of solving a case. Then, __**I am John's**__ surged back, an inverted echo, and he clutched him desperately to himself, letting go his hand to wrap both arms tightly around John's precious body. _

John's grip tightened in return. _He could hardly believe he was in Sherlock's arms, could hardly believe how satisfying it felt, could hardly believe he'd tricked himself into thinking he wanted anything else. Now, he had to make Sherlock understand how much he truly loved him. _Seizing the moment, he pushed against Sherlock, forcing him to stumble backward till he tripped on the couch and John was able to climb on top of him as he fell onto it. _Sherlock may have started this, but John wasn't going to let him end it on his terms, which would probably be a swift retreat back to cold logic._ He knelt on the couch in Sherlock's lap, for once taller than him, pressing him back. He held Sherlock's head in his hands and kissed him properly, not just pressing their faces together as they had, but fondling his lips softly, taking in their flavor and texture, getting them both used to this before they had a chance to open their eyes and become awkward with shock. _He had to make Sherlock continue to simply feel and had to prevent his own mind from panicking as well._ Sherlock gripped John's shirt awkwardly, then let his hands slide over his back before hugging him tight once more.

_John's lips were surprisingly soft and sweet. His kisses, while yet fairly innocent, were intoxicating. Sherlock felt himself melting under John's touch. He hadn't thought about __**this**__ happening when he'd decided to force the issue of their mutual devotion. Making John renounce dating had been his focus; he hadn't paused to consider the results of becoming his boyfriend. He felt completely unprepared for this, completely unable to think. So he just let John kiss him, deliciously. Keenly aware of every sensation of their lips, of John's hands in his hair, of John's body under his own hands and pressing against his chest, he didn't draw any conclusions, just let himself soak in the feeling of John all around him. Eventually he found he was kissing back, his lips hungry for him, his tongue tentatively reaching out to meet John's. He didn't have to think about it, it just happened, and it felt amazing. He had never contemplated doing this: kissing, he had never wanted it, but now he__** wanted **__John, and this need consumed his mind. _He held John tightly, never letting their lips part as he twisted around so that now it was John pressed between the couch and Sherlock's body. John gripped him as though afraid he would stand up and walk away, but instead Sherlock drew John's legs up onto the couch and settled himself over his whole length. Sherlock kissed him deeply, and then at last drew back and opened his eyes._ For an instant he had half a mind to call it an interesting experiment and make a hasty retreat to his room. Yet, as uncomfortable as he was with romance, he couldn't deny the satisfaction he now felt as he looked down at John lying beneath him._

John blinked up at Sherlock in amazement, holding onto him tightly as if to make sure he wasn't an apparition that would vanish. John tangled Sherlock's legs with his own as extra assurance that he couldn't get away. They gazed at each-other, taking in their familiar faces anew.

"Now it's your turn to tell me what I want, John." Sherlock murmured as he studied all the little quirks of John's face which he suddenly realized he found endearing.

"Y…ou want_ me_." A little smile tugged at the corner of John's lips and a faint blush touched his cheeks. _Inwardly his heart soared at the idea of really belonging to Sherlock, of being more than his sidekick, more than his friend. _

Sherlock's eyes glinted. "Well done." A smile played at his lips as well.

John shook his head, "No, make that: You _**love**_ me?" He looked a little apprehensive of Sherlock's response to the word _'love'_.

"I believe I do." _Sherlock had no idea what to think of that admission, but he felt John's warm smile reflected on his own face as he continued to stare at him in wonderment. _

"So. You have a girlfriend." Sherlock pointed out.

John laughed wryly, "Yeah, well that doesn't really seem to be my area after all, does it."

"Nnno." Sherlock smirked. "So you've got a boyfriend?"

John grinned, remembering their conversation so many months ago. "Yes. Yes I do."

"Good." Sherlock's smirk broadened with satisfaction.

"And we're both married to his work." John teased.

Sherlock snorted. "Dinner?" he suggested with a twitch of his brow.

John looked confused.

"You're not the only one who drops everything for his boyfriend." Sherlock replied smugly.

"But it's…"

"Of national importance. Yes, I know." Sherlock finished, standing up and pulling John to his feet and into his arms. They studied each-other a moment from this position, then Sherlock leaned down a little awkwardly and kissed John again, who quickly surrendered to this. _Sherlock's stomach fluttered as he felt John melting into him. Perhaps it would be less difficult than he expected to get used to this._ They lingered thus for several minutes.

"We can talk about it at the restaurant." Sherlock said with a wink when they finally parted. "You're always nagging me to eat." Then he was whirling away to scoop up some books and grab their coats.

John stood dumbfounded for a moment as he tried to settle the crazy turn of events into his brain, but Sherlock was soon forcing him into his coat. He kissed John once more, fleetingly, as he took his hand and dragged him out the door.


End file.
